What're you lookin' at? | Ramblings from a self-proclaimed yada yada yada...ist

A six-month-old's lament

Dear Internet,

Why is my mom all about the disappearing acts lately? This hiatus was even lamer than the last one. I didn't even get a chance to post! What's up with that?

Grrr,
Kara

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Dear Kara,

When you type negative comments about your mother using her very own blog, remember she can read them. Also, that she has the power to take that pacifier away faster than you can crawl after her.

Love,
Momma

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Well, if my non-literate baby daughter took the time to ask such deep and meaningful questions, the least I can do is answer them. Maybe you're interested, too!

But really, it's quite boring. I never intended this place to collect dust for as long as it did. Every few days I'd intend to post, but first-trimester yuck caught up to me, to the point that once Kara was down for the night, I was down for the night. I could pull myself together long enough to post on Parents, but not for anything that didn't absolutely require some level of attention. Plus, I'm still feeling hella overwhelmed about this baby (as evidenced by my recent Parents freak-out), and I wasn't sure what to say about it here. I go back and forth between feeling completely off my game about having two kids so close together and completely guilty that I'm not one-hundred-percent over-the-moon about our new addition, which I know is a gift from God, a gift I will love just as much as Kara. But right now the big picture is hazy, as the every day is spent battling UTIs, trying to find an appetite (yet simultaneously wondering why I've only lost a pound), sleeping whenever I get the chance, and bemoaning my overall lack of energy. I don't want to complain all the time. I don't want people to think I'm asking for sympathy. But I can't pretend I'm over this hump yet, physically or emotionally.

It helps that Luke and I have put off house-hunting for a bit. Our whirlwind touring process ended with us making offers on three houses in two weeks, none of which worked out. In all three cases the counter was too high, and the sellers weren't willing to come down any more, and we couldn't afford to go up more than a couple of thousand. The first house we bid on was actually a pipe dream -- it had only been on the market one day, so we knew they wouldn't be desperate enough to go down as much as we wanted, but it never hurts to try -- but the last two offers were acknowledged to be quite reasonable by the seller's agents. It sounds like in each case, the sellers owed more than the houses were worth and couldn't accept much less than their original purchase price. Which, OK, but then why is your house on the market? Why not wait until the economy improves and get more bang for your buck? Whatever. Luke and I are taking the next couple of months to save up a larger down payment (thank you, July bonus) and clear our heads so we don't settle on something that won't work in the long run. I really hope all three of those houses are still on the market when we get back on track. Maybe they'll like our offers then, bastards.

(Not that I'm bitter or anything.)

Things around here are OK. Kara officially turned six months old a couple of weeks ago and weighs in at a whopping 21 pounds and 11 ounces and measures 28 3/4 inches long. She's crawling, pulling up on furniture, kind of submitting to a somewhat regular nap schedule, and laughing. The laughing is the best -- full-on, belly laughs that I didn't think were possible for babies, but they are. And on Saturday night, we caught it on video.

I look terrible, and my voice is super annoying, but surely you can get past all that to appreciate my beautiful baby girl. We couldn't be more delighted with her.

FYI, we haven't been able to get a reaction like that from her since, even with the magic word "Oopsie," so let's just thank our lucky stars we captured it when we did.

(It's totally inappropriate for me to watch this clip and wish I'd pointed at my belly during one of the "Oopsies," right? Probably yes?)

Also, in case you were wondering, the newest Frema-Useless Clutter embryo (who from here on out shall be known as Number Two) isn't doing so bad, either.

There's not much to see right now, but the first picture includes a tiny yet helpful arrow to indicate Number Two's current residence. This ultrasound was taken when I was exactly six weeks along and suggests a due date of February 11, 2009. If I have another c-section (which my doctor suggests), I'd go a week earlier, putting my children just shy of 14 months apart. Tomorrow I will be eight weeks. This early part of pregnancy is going exactly like I remembered -- loooong, and also BLECH -- and I'm already waiting in earnest for that second-trimester burst of energy that didn't come until around week 18 with Kara. Hopefully, Number Two will be more considerate, but probably not. I bet Kara posted crib notes on the wall of my uterus, instructing future siblings on proper prenatal behavior, just to spite me.

For those of you who haven't stopped checking this blog for signs of life, I will do my best not to flake out again, but see above regarding BLECH. Thanks for hanging in there.

For what it's worth...

I told myself it didn't matter, not having a positive pregnancy test. A blood prick from the doctor's office is way more telling than a first morning's urine, and the last thing I need to do is waste three-fifty on something that offers redundant information. But tonight I asked Luke to pick up a Target-brand HPT, anyway, frugality be damned, because I am a girl and biologically programmed to pee on sticks. I need proof. I need the two pink lines. Or in this case, a big blue plus sign.

Mission accomplished.

It's about damn time.

Congratulations, pregnant self! Call me crazy, but it's much more real now.

Things have been crazy-busy around here. Last Wednesday, Luke and I lost two hours of married life talking numbers with our mortgage lender and visited seven homes in four hours on Sunday. Today we saw three more plus the most promising one from the weekend, and tomorrow we will make an offer.

House hunting has proven to be one of the most interesting experiences of my life, and the most exhausting, especially when you're schlepping around a six-month-old who will only tolerate so much car seat before her screams permeate a twenty-foot radius. One house had a whole room shocasing African safari decor complete with elephant wallpaper border and an unfortunately persistent smell of cat. We also attempted to see two bank-owned homes listed at to-die-for prices, until we actually entered the homes and realized that's probably what happened. Somebody must have died. What else could explain the torn carpet, scribbled-on walls, damaged fences, and bugs seeping through the woodwork? If Luke and I could afford a more mature down payment and about ten thousand dollars worth of up-front maintenance costs, these bad boys would be a steal. But we have babies (babies! MY GOD), who would prefer to eat more than once a day, and I am not a fan of having to purge questionable living creatures from my happy place.

The house we are going with, our first choice, is adorable. Three bedrooms, two baths, roomy, fenced-in backyard, two-car insulated garage, brand-new carpet, appliances included, and closet space galore, all in a neighorhood with one of the best school systems in the Indianapolis area. Originally we were hoping to score four bedrooms, or at least three beds and an office space, but alas, we are first-time home-buyers living on one salary, so some of those wants will have to wait until next time. First Choice will definitely meet our needs as a soon-to-be four-person family for years to come, and today on our second walk-through, I got lost thinking about raising our children there--rocking them to sleep, setting up a Christmas tree, playing tag in the yard while Luke throws hot dogs on the grill--and now I am quietly freaking out because I am too emotionally invested in this transaction. We have a price cap that we will not (cannot) negotiate, and there are two other houses to act on should this deal fall through, so I'm not worried about losing my head, but if for some reason things didn't work out, I just might pull a Sally Field circa Steel Magnolias ("I wanna know whyyyyyyyy") and consume an entire pint of Chunky Monkey in one sitting. Which may or may not be appreciated by my embryo.   

Kara is fabulous. She's been sitting on her own for months now, but yesterday was the first time she actually pulled herself into a sitting position. That made me cry, too, as did thinking about how huge I'm going to be in a few months and I won't be able to hold her on my chest like I do now and wah wah wah more ice cream please.

It's getting harder and harder to keep my lips zipped about baby number two at work. I've already told my VP, my direct supervisor, two of my work buddies, and our sales and marketing analyst. If I can make it to my June 18th ob/gyn appointment and ultrasound without tipping off the CEO, it will be a bloody miracle. And seeing as life lately is already one big miracle, I doubt I'm due for another.

Name that due date!

I don't know if it's a sign of pregnancy or just an excuse to abandon the strict Weight Watchers regime, but food and I have once again become BFFs. Last Thursday, I "snacked" on a piece of cold steak while Luke was cooking dinner, and yesterday I suggested ordering from our favorite local restaurant, and by the way, wouldn't it be nice to get a hot roast beef and split a small pizza?

What can I say? Baby's gotta eat.

Not this baby. The new one.

Clearly, Kara is bad to the bone.

While surfing the Web for a due date calculator that would allow me to take my unpredictable, postpartum Aunt Flo visits into account, the only one that even provided a spot to adjust cycle length was BabyCenter.com, but even then the cap was 45 days, and I truly believe ovulation took place in mid-May. There's no way I can be seven weeks pregnant. I just can't.

Can I?

You decide. Here are the facts (advance apologies for the TMI):

First day of last period: March 27
Unprotected "incident" #1: April 26
Unprotected "incident" #2: May 12 (Happy anniversary, dear)
Negative home readings: May 9 through May 29
Positive blood test: May 30

There's no morning sickness to speak of yet but plenty of uterine cramping, so my guestimate is still mid-February. If I had ovulated at the end of April, surely I would have seen a positive reading on ONE of my five pee sticks, yes? At least, I think I would have. When I found out I was pregnant with Kara, I was only a few weeks along and STILL got six positive readings. Why would this time be any different?

So. Have at it!

Good-bye, cold lunchmeat. See you in February 2009.

So, over the last couple of weeks, I've kind of been making a big deal over the possibility of being pregnant (again). At first it was fun, something to blog about for Parents that didn't make me out to be an angry dog hater, but I didn't really think it was true. Apparently nobody else did, either. I heard the DUH in comments from some of my readers. "You KNOW your cycle can take a while to get back on track, right?" they said. Which, hey, I'm with you. Surely FIVE negative pregnancy tests can't be wrong.

Except they totally can, because according to my blood test? I'm having a baby.

It's probably safe to assume Luke will never touch me again. No need to worry about number three.

Kara is unimpressed.

Silly Mommy. You've really gone and done it now.

It's going to be OK, right? I mean, I KNOW it's going to be OK, birthing two children fourteen months apart and having to buy a house and upgrade our car and save for doctor's visits and hospital bills and maternity leave (oh, my God, my boss is totally going to think I'm a nympho) and recover from two c-sections in two years and deal with morning sickness and round ligament pain and breastfeeding AGAIN. I know people do more with less. And really, I am so happy. So very, very happy.

But still.

Tell me it's going to be OK.

She's here!

Boy, you guys are a tough crowd.  When Frema appointed me Official Blog Updater (for when I arrived home tonight, that is) I suppose we might have mentioned that I'd be staying at the hospital with her.  All day.  Without internet access.  Until I arrived home, which was two and a half hours North of where this precious baby was born tonight.

But now you'll forgive all of the madness and waiting, won't you?  Because I've returned with pictures!

When I arrived today, I was excited to see my dear friend in her normal character.  Is this the perfect Frema Does Childbirth picture or what?

Of course, then the medical staff went and ruined all the fun with a pretty good Pitocin drip, and I've never seen Bree more focused, or in more pain.  She was wonderful, and Luke was an incredible support, but dog-gone if she wasn't in some pain.

And then, well, the drugs came.   And all was right with the world again.

By 2pm there was cheer and double foot rubs and full effacement and eight good centimeters of dilating.  We thought for sure baby Freka was well on her way to catching the five o'clock news.

But as things sometimes go, progress came to a screeching halt and the baby decided things were a bit cramped, but mostly comfy inside.  And she stayed exactly where she was comfortable throughout almost fourteen hours of labor, until approximately 9pm, when the doctor assured Breain and Luke that the only way this baby would be coming out would be through a c-section.

This was definitely the low point of the day, when they wheeled our girl(s) off to surgery. 

(Luke, your gown's open, pal.)

(Snicker, snicker.)

Thankfully, the low point was followed closely by the highest point.  This is who returned to the room, just an hour later:

An amazing family of three.

At 9:50pm, Miss Kara Leigh arrived, weighing 11 pounds, 4 ounces, and measuring 22.5 inches long, with a smirk on her face and the sweetest chubby cheeks you've ever laid eyes on.

Which should leave no room for questioning the need for a Cesarean Section.  My word!

Congratulations, friends.

The end is near.

Well, it looks like we'll need that induction after all. Freka appears quite content to remain in my uterus, thank you very much, so tomorrow at 7:30 a.m., Luke and I will head to the hospital and see what we can do to persuade her to join us.

It's been a weird day, and more than a little unnerving to think about having to jumpstart a process so intimate and normally so intuitive. I'm sure the baby would've come on her own eventually, but the longer she stays in here, the more on edge I get, wondering if her activity level is normal, if my placenta's still taking care of her the way it should, if her ever-growing body is going to fit through my wee-by-comparison vagina. I never thought I'd need an induction, but I still feel good knowing that I didn't rush into things the minute my due date passed and that I gave her some more time to get with the program. Now, though, her lease is up, and Momma wants to collect what's due.

Until then, it's time to clean up and go to bed. I've got a big day tomorrow.

(By the way, let's all give three cheers for Molly, who has moved Heaven and Earth to be able to come to the hospital tomorrow and see my baby. She's being charged with the very important task of updating this blog with pictures and news once she gets home, so be sure to be nice to her.)

Not so much with a baby yet.

Just in case anybody's checking in on Blogland this weekend, I wanted to post a quick no-baby update. There's been breakfast at my favorite pancake house, the purchase of new gloves, a wonderful steak dinner prepared by my husband, LOTS of eager phone calls, and a little bit of snow, but nope, no baby.

As you were.

My child is a medical marvel

"I honestly don't know what's keeping this baby from coming out," said my doctor this afternoon after my latest cervical exam. Dilation is almost five centimeters, while effacement is steady at seventy percent. A non-stress test revealed Freka's strong heart beat and contractions six and a half minutes apart lasting sixty to eighty seconds long. Go, body, go!

My original plan was to schedule induction for Saturday morning if Freka hadn't arrived before then, but it turns out my practice doesn't "do" them on the weekends, so we're penciled in for Monday at 7:30 a.m. However, my doctor said that at this point, if I were to show up at the hospital, nobody would turn me away.

I'm well aware that my gut feelings haven't amounted to much these last few days, but I really don't think I'll make it to Monday morning. Until then, though, Luke and I will continue our going-out-to-dinner streak (I'm in no hurry to mess up our perfectly clean kitchen), watch movies, and rest up as best we can for the job ahead. Also, we'll be keepng a close eye on the weather, because Indianapolis is slated to receive six to ten inches of snow this weekend. Of course.

I feel good about where things are and how I'm progressing. The gals at the front desk were impressed that I was already so far along and predicted a fast and easy labor for me. "I bet you'll show up at the hospital ten centimeters dilated and ready to push," the receptionist said.

Works for me.

I'll keep you posted.

If the stair climbing doesn't do it, Carol's sexual innuendos will

I was so sure it was going to happen last night. The contractions were coming every fifteen minutes or so, Luke and I walked around our apartment complex to jiggle the baby up, and I bounced my ass off on the birthing ball; plus, ten minutes before bed I proceeded to have a nesting panic attack so severe that Luke mopped our floors and took out the trash for me. At midnight. Because suddenly everything seemed filthy.

This morning we woke up and took another walk. I vaccuumed the shit out of our apartment, bleached our sinks (wearing gloves, don't worry), and did several laps on the stairs in our building. When Luke comes home for lunch, we'll do some more walking, but in the meantime, I'm watching A Very Brady Christmas in hopes that the awfulness of the dialogue, wardrobe, and continued abuse of Alice (if she's really a houseguest, why not encourage her to get out of that damn uniform?) will be enough to make Freka want to flee the confines of my uterus before the ending credits have a chance to roll.

Seriously, this movie is terrible. Between Carol's thinly veiled "let's do some business together" sex talk, Mike's pairing of a watch and a bracelet on the same wrist (I really can't stand jewelry on men), Greg's selfish wife (who refuses to visit the Bradys for the holidays this year because her favorite aunt will be in town, EVEN THOUGH they've been to her family's house for Christmas the last two years), Marcia's whiny, jobless husband (who has no qualms sharing their dismal financial state in front of their two bratty kids), and Peter's willingness to sleep with his boss but not make her an honest woman because she makes more money than he does, I haven't a clue as to why I look forward to watching this drivel year after year after year.

But, God help me, I do.

Still hopeful for today

Luke and I were married on May 12, so I think December 12 would be an excellent birthday for our first child, don't you agree?

Obviously, still no baby yet. Contractions are coming, but they're not very long or close together, so I still haven't bothered to time them. My guess? Freka is just as psyched as I am about this week's three-episode block of Deal or No Deal, and she's not coming until the last one airs tonight. And really, who can blame her? Howie is awesome.

So. Happy.

Let's hear it for Freka and my cervix, the latter of which, according to my doctor, is almost four centimeters dilated and 70 percent effaced!

My 40-week appointment was this morning, and I walked away from it feeling much better than when I came in. My total weight gain to date is steady at 35 pounds, the baby's heart rate is strong at 160 beats per minute, her head is sitting low in my pelvis, and my uterus is measuring in at a whopping 43 centimeters. Upon hearing that, I shot a worried glance at Luke and asked the doctor to estimate the baby's weight. In her opinion (which, yes, I know it's only an opinion), about eight pounds. Whew.

Things are going well, though she did say there were slight traces of protein in my urine and asked if I was experiencing any headaches or blurred vision. "None" to the first, and "occasionally I see spots" to the second, but other then that and the swelling in my hands and legs, I'm peachy keen. We talked about induction, and I said I wanted to give Freka some more time to do things on her own. Both of us were impressed with the progress I've made in the last eight days, and I don't want to interfere with that when there's no medical reason to do so. We scheduled an appointment for Friday afternoon, at which time we'll do a non-stress test to make sure the baby's still thriving. If necessary, I plan to induce on Saturday.

It feels so good to know my body's doing what it was designed to do and that my baby really will be here any day now. In the meantime, I'm going to clean up, rest up, and think good thoughts about labor and delivery. I can do this. My body was made to do this. My baby has to come out. These are all good things.

Once again, to quote the great Amalah...

Hello, due date!

Good-bye, due date!

When Luke came home from work this evening, I held it together for approximately eight seconds before bawling into his shoulder over how nervous I was about labor and how I did NOT want to read another baby book until I actually had a baby to deal with at home. I started What to Expect: The First Year yesterday, and while it's been a great read so far (I really have no idea why the What to Expect series gets such a bad rap from the Internet. The authors are always talking about the wide range of normal that exists both in pregnancy and in babies, and I've found them to be very comforting), my brain needs a break. The last thing I want to turn into is That Mom who runs to her stash of parenting guides every time she has a problem, and yet in the last few months, I've read two books on breastfeeding, delved into two baby's-first-year manuals, finished The Big Book of Birth (which I just might review on my Parents blog one of these days), and breezed through countless magazines from my ob/gyn's office. And that's in addition to all the regular pregnancy stuff. Being prepared is one thing, but at this point, it's safe to say that I am literatured out. Tomorrow I'll go for something lighter; perhaps a hardcover Nancy Drew.

If I'm still at home, that is. I've been having more regular contractions since before Luke and I went to dinner (thank you, spinach dip?), though I still haven't timed them. I'm almost afraid to, like I'll jinx my progress or something.

People are calling me, full of excitement about the new little person that's about to enter our lives, eager to measure my own barometer of Happy!, and I feel like my reaction disappoints them. I'm not chirpy, I'm not eager, I'm not even impatient anymore. Freka can wait a few more days if she wants to. Hell, I'm not going anywhere.

Here it is, folks. Forty weeks in all its glory. Here's hoping I don't make it to forty-one.

If I knew she were coming, I would bake a cake

Well, Luke would bake the cake. We've got a box of Duncan Hines banana mix and container of cream cheese frosting in the pantry, and I'm not afraid to (ask him to) use them.

As you can tell by the fact that I posted this entry, Freka has yet to make her debut. We spent the weekend running errands, picking up the apartment, and wondering when she might want to get things started. Yesterday was nice because it was the first time in almost a week that I ditched my glasses and product-free hair for contacts, mousse, and even some pressed powder. It felt good to actually get ready for the day, which started with church and ended with waffles two hours before bedtime.

If we're not at the hospital this evening, we're going out to dinner to take our minds off the whole baby-not-coming-yet thing. I'm thinking spinach dip, chicken fingers, and a very rich dessert.

I wish I had more interesting things to tell you, but the closer I get to giving birth, the harder it is to concentrate. I'll try to post an updated belly shot tonight, after I've had my Deal or No Deal fix. Watching the rise and fall of greedy contestants over the course of the next three days is the only coping technique I've got.

Come out, come out, wherever you are

Last night I had a dream that Freka had been born, and she was absolutely beautiful. I dreamt that I had brought her home from the hospital ("home," in this scenario, being my parents' apartment in Chicago), and I was the only one up, and she was so alert and happy, and I propped her up in her car seat on the couch, only the angle was wrong and she fell out. Alone ten minutes and I'd already broken my daughter.

Vacation has been low-key. Showering, dishwashing, blogging, reading, dozing, watching Judge Judy after my stories have ended, counting the minutes until Luke gets in from work. The closer we get to my due date, the more I'm apt to think the pack of newborn diapers we bought will be obsolete. Good thing we have THREE packs of size ones.

My mother still thinks the baby's a boy.

One of my favorite doctors is on call this weekend, so it would be really nice if Freka chose to get things moving today. Hear that, sweet girl? REALLY NICE.

I still say the carrot-stealing bastard got what he deserved

This baby is taking her time.

I know, I know, I'm not even past my due date yet, but I can feel it. The Braxton Hicks contractions that seemed to be coming so frequently two weeks ago seem to have disappeared almost completely, and I can practically hear my cervix taunting me with all the non-dilating it's probably doing. My 40-week appointment is scheduled for Tuesday at 9:45, and in my heart, I know that Luke and I will be there. Blah.

How 'bout we answer some questions today, eh?

Professor Art Nerd is dying to know:

Who is your favorite artist, or artistic period, or work of art? What do you like about it? (I'm not judging, honest, it's just a question I always ask)

Oh, Lauren, I'm sure my response is going to diappoint you, because while I have a huge appreciation of art, my actual art knowledge is scant. I can tell you I love the Saturday Evening Post covers created by Norman Rockwell, which will be gracing my calendar for 2008, and there's a matted photograph of autumn leaves in my living room that I purchased at a local craft show a few years ago when I lived in Rensselaer and worked at Saint Joe. Other than that? I'm useless. I love the Post covers because of how well the images reflect all the coming-of-age situations that seem to happen in a typical American's life, and fall is my favorite season, so the leaves photo reminds of me crunching through parks in my hiking shoes with Luke, something we used to do all the time. That's one of the things I can't wait to do again in my non-pregnant state.

What is the book you most look forward to reading to Freka?

Now HERE'S a question I can get behind, mostly because I was a reading fool as a kid, and one of the biggest things that excites me about having a daughter is being able to share my favorite childhood and young adult books with her. Baby-sitters Club. Nancy Drew (both the original hardbacks and the paperback Nancy Drew Files). Sweet Valley High. Anything by Judy Blume and Paul Zindel. It's not that boys can't read these books, but do they? No, not usually. And even though I tried, I could never get into the Hardy Boys; they were only tolerable when teaming up with Nancy, Bess, and George in those random mystery thrillers that came out every few months.

Anyway, to answer the actual question, the book I'm most excited about reading to Freka right now is the comprehensive collection from Beatrix Potter. When I was a kid, one of my aunts gifted us the entire series of stories, and my sister Samantha and I had a blast going through the little books. My favorite at the time was The Story of a Fierce Bad Rabbit, mainly because he got his naughty little cotton tail shot off at the end.

Brittany asks:

Have you ever had something stolen from you?

Hell, yes, I have. The neon-green scooter I bought with money I received for making my First Communion back when I was nine years old, and I'm still pissed about it.

That scooter was a big deal. I already had a bike; Samantha and I had received matching pink bikes from my Nana for Christmas the year before, each with their own names etched into the handlebar padding (mine was Pink Taffy). But still, I wanted a scooter. Don't ask me why.

A week or two after my First Communion celebration, my father took me to Toys R Us, and I picked out said neon-green scooter. He put it together for me as soon as I got home, and I fell in love. Between that and the bike, my feet almost forgot what it felt like to make physical contact with the sidewalk. (We were NEVER allowed to ride in the street, and I'm still amazed when I see kids that do. My mother would've killed me.)

The poor thing didn't last through the summer.

My parents might say part of it was my fault for occasionally neglecting to store the scooter in the basement like I was supposed to every night before going to bed. Our apartment had fencing around the yard, and a gate, but it was that criss-cross wiring stuff that anyone could easily climb over. Apparently, the temptation of the scooter just sitting there next to our staircase was too great for one of the local sticky-fingers, and one morning, it was just gone. I never saw it again.

Now that I think about it, I'm pretty sure they stole my bike, too. Couldn't you just cry a river for poor 'lil Frema?

Deep thoughts from my first day off; also, in case it isn't obvious, no baby yet

Yesterday, while reading Marie Clare:

Christina Aguilera, I don't think buying a house qualifies as "nesting."

Will I ever be in a financial situation that can justify spending four hundred dollars on a purse?

God, I miss normal-people clothes.

While showering:

Hot damn, is this a pain in the ass.

While brushing my teeth:

Hey, our soap dispenser is almost out. I wonder which Bath and Body Works pump I should put out next: Country Apple or Warm Vanilla Sugar?

I really should floss. Tomorrow.

While watching The Parent Trap:

Uh, Susan? Telling your camp buddies that The Girl Who Looks Exactly Like You is the spitting image of Frankenstein doesn't bode well for you, honey. Also, you are a bitch and totally deserved to have the back of your skirt cut out at the Saturday night dance.

I wonder if Hayley Mills got bored acting with herself.

Maureen O'Hara was gorgeous. Does my generation even have a Maureen O'Hara?

Vicki was actually pretty nice to the girls until they submarined her.

Wasn't Mitch in The Shaggy Dog? I've never seen it, but still.

Am I the only person who remembers the sequel to this movie? Who was it that the divorced sister hooked up with in that one?

Mitch has every right to be mad that his ex-wife is prancing around in his bathrobe while he's meeting with his fiancee and wedding minister. Where the fuck does she get off punching him?

I bet the sex was pretty good.

Tom Skerritt.

Ben and Jerry, your Banana Split isn't bad, but it's no Chunky Monkey.

While watching The Sound of Music:

Did Julie Andrews ever have long hair? Mary Poppins doesn't count, that was totally a wig.

Captain Von Trapp is HOTT. HOOOOT.

I don't care if I'm a dork, I LIKE Maria's handmade dresses.

Liesel is so pretty. Look at those eyes!

Her shoes are cute, too.

I wish handsome boys delivered telegrams to MY house and then twirled me around in a gazebo in the rain.

When I was a kid, I always thought the German/Austrian conflict stuff was kind of thrown in after the second act, but really there were subtle clues throughout the whole movie. Damn network television and their edits for clouding my original impressions!

The adult dialogue in this movie is actually pretty clever!

I wonder what the age difference is between Maria and Captain Von Trapp?

HOOOOT.

"Climb Every Mountain" is the worst song in a musical ever, mainly because it's sung by an eighty-year-old nun.

Would a sixteen-year-old girl really enjoy helping out with a damn puppet show?

I remember when I wanted to be a nun. Good thing that didn't work out.

Poor Captain Von Trapp, having his homeland torn apart by Nazis.

HOOOOT.

Ready to rock

I did it! Today was my last official day on the clock at work. Until March 5. Presumably because I'm going to have a baby. I guess time will tell on that one.

Anyway, even though I was working from home, I still managed to get some things done: run to Babies R Us for the bazillionth time, wrap Luke's stocking stuffers and Freka's Christmas gifts, fold laundry, indulge on ABC soaps (I have no idea how daytime television will be affected by the writers' strike, but could this crap come at a more inconvenient time?), and down a few Reese's Christmas tree candies. I know! All before Luke came home, at which time we got chicken from Popeye's before banishing me from the apartment for an hour and a half because my wonderful husband wanted to treat the carpets with some type of foam cleaner, and he was worried about possible fumes harming the baby. I'm not complaining; I got to sit in a comfy chair at Books A Million and browse through parenting guides for most of the time, and since retail stores aren't libraries, I also picked up one of Suze Orman's older books to read, maybe even finish before the baby comes. (I also have a copy of Women and Money; we'll see which one I pick up first.)

Since I'm no longer getting vibes that Freka will be joining us anytime soon, I've been trying to figure out how to spend this newfound free time. I'm picturing long afternoons on the couch, alternating between saturating my mind with knowledge and spacing in front of the boob tube. I can already hear A Very Brady Christmas (which I've yet to watch this season, I'm so behind), The Sound of Music, and The Lord of the Rings trilogy calling my name. Also, now that both work and NaBloPoMo are over, I'm much more eager to blog again and hope to keep you guys updated on all the minute details of my now (temporarily) uneventful life.

One of those details being how insanely excited I am about our newly refurbished rocking chair. It was delivered on Sunday afternoon, and I swear, it felt like a totally new piece of furniture was entering our home.

Once again, the before shots:

...And after:

New fabric, new stuffing, a layer of polyurethane, and voila! An heirloom fit for my sweet little baby, an heirloom that's even older than I thought. I was under the impression it was purchased for my parents when I was born, but my mother said it actually belonged to her mother first, which makes me even more glad Luke and I shelled out the money to have it professionally redone.

I can't believe in just two weeks or less (please, dear God, let it be less), I'll be rocking my daughter in this very chair. Dudes, it's like, totally blowing my mind.

Seven days

When you're pregnant, hearing that phrase and knowing you still have a week to go before your due date is just as horrifying as that movie from The Ring.

Pulling the newest issue of Marie Clare from your mailbox, seeing an airbrushed, knocked-up Christina Aguilera on the cover, and comparing her obviously Photoshopped belly to your own runs a close second.

I had another doctor's appointment this morning, and while Freka is doing just dandy, my cervix is dropping the ball. Apparently, it's quite fond of being one and a half centimeters dilated; so fond, in fact, that it prefers to stay that way, at least for now. No additional progress on the effacement front, either. So it appears that my hopes and prayers for an early delivery were not meant to be answered. But that's OK. I still have plenty of baby-related things on my plate vying for my attention, and seeing as my last day of work is tomorrow, I should have plenty of time to obsess over them.

That's right. After all that bitching and moaning on my Parents blog regarding what to do about maternity leave, I talked with my boss this morning about using the last of my vacation time for 2007 to squeeze in some much-needed R&R, and he was totally on board. I'll work from home tomorrow to wrap up some last-minute e-mails, but I've already said my good-byes to everyone at the office, so the end, it is near. Vacation starts on Wednesday and carries through until next Tuesday; I'll officially start maternity leave on Wednesday, December 12, and return to work on Wednesday, March 5.This plan allows me to put my feet up a little and start my leave a tad later than expected, which means if the baby is a little off schedule I won't miss out on more than two or three days at home with her. Plus, I love the idea of returning to work in the middle of the week. Hopefully, it'll make the transition back into corporate life more managable.

I know a lot of you were real troopers who kept your professional noses to the grindstone 'til the very end, but this pregnancy has been busy enough, what with freelancing and teaching on top of my regular job, and I'm not ashamed to say that I want a break, thank you very much. Plus, since I'll continue to accrue time off while on leave (yes, I know how rare this is, and yes, I have it in writing from HR), there's no reason for me to martyr myself or hoard my vacation days for when I go back to work.

I'm going to call it a night for now, but tune in tomorrow, when I plan to show off my fabulously re-upholstered rocking chair and possibly answer some more Q&A questions. Oh, the suspense of it all!

P.S. Check out my husband's awesome new blog design. He drew the pirate ship himself!

P.P.S. In case you haven't already noticed, I'm giving myself a short reprieve from answering comments individually because holy hell, is my attention span shot. However, I will address any burning questions within the comments section itself. Thanks for understanding.

I don't think Samantha ever made it, either

At long last, it is here. The last day of NaBloPoMo.

I have to say, this year I disappointed myself. The first time around, I did a good job of writing about a variety of different things: sharing stories from my childhood, creating Tragic Love Friday, initiating the cheesy love song swap, blah blah blah. This year saw no such variety from me--it was pretty much all baby, all the time.

Then again, I'm about to have a baby. And that's what I think about. All the time. Surely you understand.

Today was one of my final days at the office, and even though I spent most of it cleaning out files and meeting with coworkers who'll be taking over my core duties while I'm on maternity leave, this whole experience still doesn't seem quite real. It reminds me of the years I spent in Girl Scouts when I was a kid, and every year our troupe visited a local pumpkin patch for a day of fright and fun. I'd never been to a pumpkin patch before, and the month leading up to the event I was always so excited I could wet myself.

(And sometimes I did.)

(Just kidding.)

Anyway, every year something happened that prevented me from going on the trip, and it was always my own fault. One time it was because I'd mouthed off to my mother the day before; the year after that, my sister and I were caught fighting in church THE MORNING OF. By the time I got my act together, I wasn't in Girl Scouts anymore. My pumpkin-patch ship had sailed.

Where am I going with all of this?

It's like the birth of this baby is some wonderful event being dangled in front of me like cheese to a mouse, an event so wonderful that it's too wonderful to actually come to fruition. Like I'm going to do something stupid--say, trip on a crack in the sidewalk or drop a coffee cup on my belly--and Freka will never be born. It's hard to comprehend that I will go into labor, that she will come out, that I will hold her in my arms and become a mother for the first time.

Her clothes are washed. Her room is ready. She has Christmas presents for her stocking and even one for under the tree. We've got enough newborn and size one diapers to last us the whole winter (or at least the first two weeks). What Luke and I don't have is a firm grasp on the notion that this baby, our baby, is actually coming.

But when she does? It'll be so much better than a romp through a pumpkin patch.

Preparing my nest; also, let's count how many variations of "damn" appear in this entry

I think depression and nesting are in the same boat. As in, they're both terms that get tossed around way too casually and far too often.

For example, a person might feel sad for a couple of days, maybe a week even, and label themselves as depressed, when really it's a condition that doesn't apply unless that sadness stretches on for weeks at a time, preventing said person from completing normal, everyday tasks. In high school, I thought listening to mix tapes of easy listening love songs and prank calling my ex-boyfriend meant I was depressed, when in reality I was just a big fat loser with no life. Sad? Yes--on many levels. But depressed? No.

Same thing with nesting. Just because a pregnant woman vaccuums her rugs or washes a sinkful of dishes doesn't mean she's nesting. Maybe she's always been a neat freak. Maybe she's releasing pent-up energy. Or maybe, just maybe, she's simply cleaning her damn house.

Lots of people think I'm nesting, but I think I'm just doing what I always do: meticulously preparing for a significant life event. I did it when Luke moved in. I did it again when we got married. And I did it once more when we upgraded our apartment. It only makes sense I'd want things in order before we introduce a new human being into our home.

That isn't to say the nesting instinct doesn't exist. One of my company VPs relayed a story about his wife pushing him out of bed at twelve-thirty in the morning during her last month of pregnancy insisting he take out the trash. Our sales director told me that days before his wife gave birth to their first child this summer, she was on her hands and knees scrubbing their floors even though she'd just mopped them the day before. To me, those are signs of nesting--irrational yet uncontrollable urges that must be satisfied NOW because OH MY GOD, THE BABY IS COMING.

I have not reached that point yet. Luke and I have made countless trips to the grocery store to stock our pantry and refrigerator, and yeah, I make sure all the dishes are washed and put away before bed every night (what woman wants to come home from the hospital to cereal bowls crudded with dried-up Raisin Bran?), but in my non-gestating state, that wouldn't be anything unusual. I'm almost hoping I do something crazy like get up at six in the morning to dust all the pages in my books, just to know what it feels like. And if I do, I promise, Internet, you'll be the first to know.

Anyway, I'm not really feeling the Q&A stuff tonight, so instead, I'll just present another round of... 

Project Freka: Prenatal Edition

• Write thank-you cards for shower gifts
• Purchase life insurance
• Create will-like document to secure guardianship and general well-being of Frema-Useless Clutter offspring
• Start Roth IRA for Luke (because if we don't now, we never will)

How naive am I for thinking there's still a chance we can fit this one in?

• Complete application for private student loan consolidation (who wouldn't mind saving thirty bucks a month? Not me, that's for damn sure!)
• Wipe down bedroom blinds (ours, baby's)
• Clean car (wash exterior, disinfect/vaccuum interior)
• Fill out engagement book (because really, enough with the procrastinating already)

I'm crossing this out because it ain't gonna happen. Handwriting anything these days requires a special focus I just don't have anymore. Maybe postpartum.

• Order wedding pictures from photographer (for reasoning, see above)

This one's off because I want to wait and see how the first couple of months of my temporary unemployment go before spending hundreds of dollars on something that isn't a breast pump or a car seat (hot damn if we don't already have to investigate the next size up). If we have money near the end, we'll place an order.

• Print recent family photos and sort them into albums, seeing as eight weeks from now I'll be mostly preoccupied with somebody else's eating, sleeping, and pooping habits

Even though it's actually doable, this bad boy's gone, too, because I don't want the pressure.

• Renew domain registration and TypePad account
• Burn TLF soundtrack for Audrey out of gratitude for her mad summarizing skillz (I totally intended to create a kick-ass play list for the sequel, but...well...I didn't)
• Organize baby's room/assemble baby gear

Our rocking chair was finally picked up by the upholstery shop owner on Wednesday morning, and after offering profuse apologies for not doing so last week, promised to have the whole thing done by this weekend. I did not complain. The stroller, play yard, and swing still need assembling, but I'm not concerned. Like I said last week, we don't plan on taking any big family outings during the first few weeks of Freka's life that would require toting her around for long periods of time (and if we did, we inherited a Baby Bjorn from my brother- and sister-in-law that'll work just fine), and the play yard isn't as necessary for the first few months, so as long as we (read: Luke) can get the swing put together this weekend, life is good.

• Research nursing bras/camis
• Prepare and freeze several meals for easy reheating during baby's first few weeks
• Explore cheap birth announcement ideas
• Purchase and wrap Christmas presents
• Find a pediatrician
• Install, inspect car seat

Done! Luke and I both visited a local fire station this week to have our car seat and bases inspected by a certified car seat technician, and all I can say is these inspections should be required of every parent with a driver's license and an automobile by law. BY LAW. It's amazing to know how easy it is to create hazardous traveling conditions for your child.

• Pack hospital bags

I can't believe how quickly time is flying by. I have a couple of work meetings tomorrow and Monday, but other than that I'll be "on call," working from home through next Friday. I've decided to begin my maternity leave on Freka's due date (December 10, if that hasn't been grilled into your brain already) whether she's here or not because dammit, I am Done, and my practice will recommend induction at week 41, anyway, and I can't imagine not taking them up on it. Even though, in my heart of hearts, I still think this girl's coming early.

Please baby girl, come early. Momma's begging you.

Unless she decides that blogs are bogus; that I CAN'T get behind.

First of all, mad props to Molly and her pinch-hitting for me yesterday when I was a mere fifty minutes away from blowing NaBloPoMo four days before crossing the finish line, thanks to a ill-timed power outage. I loved reading your guesses (though some more than others--I'm looking at those of you who chose dates AFTER December 10); keep them coming!

In the meantime, I'll keep the Q&A stuff coming with a goal of wrapping things up by Friday. Roxanne wonders:

What is one of your hopes/dreams for your new little one?

Oh, goodness, that's a biggie. There are so many things I'd love to see her do: find a passion. Excel in school. Treat her body with respect. Raise a family of her own. Give back in return for all that she's been given. Live a relatively debt-free life (though a few student loans and a reasonable mortgage won't kill her). Luke is hoping she'll attend Purdue and go on to become a marine biologist (hence the Sea Life bedding theme).

In the grand scheme of things, though, I just want her to be happy. I know she'll have hard times, I know she'll have to fall on her face every now and then, but as long as she's grateful for the path she's on, I'll do my best to be supportive and keep my mouth shut about her choices. 

What is one of your greatest fears for little Freka?

This may sound silly, and I'm sure I'll change my mind once she's here, but right now I don't have any fears. All I can think about are the various ways Luke and I hope to give her the best life possible, and how excited I am over imagining her experimenting with sports, reading her first Nancy Drew book, attending her first sleepover, and leaving out milk and cookies for Santa.

Katie asks:

If there was only one language that you could speak/write for the rest of your life, and English wasn't an option, which would you choose and why?

I took two years of Spanish in high school because everyone on my dad's side can speak Spanish and it's one of the most popular languages in the United States. However, my second choice would've been French, because how cool must it be to speak French? So yeah. French. 

What's your favorite cocktail?

I haven't indulged in alcohol since February, back when Luke and I knew we wanted to start trying for a baby, and I really haven't missed it, so my memories of drinking are distant. I do love a good amaretto stone sour, though, and red wine, mostly because it makes me feel grown up at parties.

Sorry for the brief answers, but it's hard to concentrate today, seeing as my doctor's appointment this morning revealed that I'm a centimeter and a half dilated and fifty percent effaced!

Hear that? My cervix is cooperating. Freka is showing (small) signs that she wants to ditch my uterus and meet her mom and dad. That's my girl!

Your mom has control of Frema's blog!

Howdy all! 

Molly here (ahem, shameless self plug, ahem.)  I'm taking a quick break from NaBloPaintMo over in my world to post for poor Frema, who is not only endlessly dedicated to the love of all NaBloPoMo, but also stuck at home gestating away without power, without Internet.  Thankfully, she is not without cheesecake.

At almost midnight, nearing the end of a month-long blogging spree, what's a girl to do?  Why she calls on her pal for a quick post, that's what. 

Of course, each time she calls, I answer the phone with an excited, "Areyouinlabor?"  Because friends, (I can call you that, yes?) I'm dying for that phone call already.  And I can tell that you are also.

So while Frema's in the dark, let's place a few bets.  What day and time are you calling for Freka's birth?  I'm calling December 6th, 8:19pm. 

The winner gets the baby.

Oh, wait.  She'll never agree to that. 

The winner gets the I Called It, Bitches title.  And THAT is something for your resume. 

Braxton this, Mr. Hicks; also, the episode where Brandon met Emily in San Francisco was also a Turkey Day one, right?

Long day, people. Long day. And because of it, the 38-week photo shoot is lacking, I think.

But don't worry. Frema finally found her happy face!

I'm working on it.

Tonight, Luke and I had a fun time trying to time my latest round of Braxton Hicks contractions, which were (sometimes) strong enough to inspire my breathing exercises but never regular enough to merit real concern. I did get one hell of a foot massage out of the deal, though. With lotion! Bath and Body Works lotion! Such a lucky woman, am I.

Continuing with the Q&A goodness, Jenny asks: 

Have you been watching The Office this season, and if so, what do you think so far?

Luke and I have been huge Office fans ever since we discovered the show during its season two run; every episode is guaranteed to withdraw at least one heartfelt guffaw from each of us. Michael's stupidly painful (yet unfortunately, still very boss-like) antics! Toby's depressing life! Dwight's cousin Mose! It's all too much!

At the end of season three, when it appeared that Jim and Pam were attempting to make a go of things, we both cheered. And at the beginning of season four, when we saw their relationship wasn't going to dominate the show's entire story arch, we breathed a sigh of relief. But now? Now, I'm not sure how I feel. The show is still very funny, but at this point it's kind of...I don't know...slow? The Dwight and Angela break-up is interesting, but it's not picking up fast enough for me. Jim and Pam are adorable, but I'm getting some very strong "Ross and Rachel season three" vibes--you guys know what I'm talking about, right? When Rachel went from being a waitress at Central Perk to a fashion executive at Bloomingdale's, and Ross got all iffy, and now Pam's trying to shed her receptionist shell to pursue leads in graphic design, and Jim's all iffy? Branch out a little, NBC writers, is all I'm saying.

What is your favorite Mexican food/Italian food?

This may come as a shock to you guys, but I'm a picky eater. I know! Despite the Mexican genes I've inherited from my father, it's a miracle I even eat tacos. I do, though. They're very good. But steak fajitas are the best.

As far as Italian food goes, same thing. When Luke and I go to places like Olive Garden or Macaroni Grill, I usually get either spaghetti (with sausage, yum) or pizza. If it ain't broke, don't fix it, am I right?

I think I'm right.

What is your favorite (or strangest) Thanksgiving memory?

Thanksgiving is one of my favorite holidays because the focus is so simple: family and food. No worries about decorations or presents, and most everyone gets to enjoy a lovely four-day weekend without having to lose a vacation day. I can't ever remember having a bad time. Memories that stand out include a broccoli fight shared between my mom and one of my aunts when I was eleven and the first time Luke and I spent it together in 2005. Prior to that we were usually apart for the actual meal on the actual holiday, so finally being able to share that with him was extra special.

If it's strange you want, I also have a lingering memory of a Beverly Hills, 90210 episode that aired on Thanksgiving, probably when I was in middle school. I never did see the whole thing, but Brandon was hanging off a cliff. Anyone care to fill in the blanks for me?

I was a good kid, I swear

For a while there, it looked like today's was going to be another bullshit entry--Luke and I woke this morning to find our wireless modem had no signal, and after a phone call to AT&T's tech support line, we learned it had indeed met its maker. At first we thought we'd have to wait a few days for a replacement and made plans to crash Luke's work (which is fewer than ten minutes away) and publish obligatory placeholder entries for NaBloPoMo, but since the modem had outlived the initial one-year warranty, we were free to hit to Best Buy and spend ninety dollars on a new one instead. Which we did, which is why I'm able to type at you from the work computer in my living room sated with Oreo pudding and Sara Lee cheesecake instead of an empty office building with no windows and probably no snacks.

Anyway, today was busier than yesterday--there was church to attend, Mexican food to feast on, errands to run, computers to reconfigure, and a little napping on the couch to do in between reading pages from The Big Book of Birth, a book I've really come to enjoy. It was tempting to post another quickie update, but you guys have been very patient and deserve better than the crap I've been slinging lately. It still might be crap, but at least not for a lack of trying.

...And on with the Q&A. Wilddreemer wants to know:

What is one thing you did as a child you hope your child doesn't do?

Take one of my shitty diapers and wipe the contents on the walls. Scoop handfuls of applesauce from the jar and eat it with my bare hands. Wet my pants during fourth grade math. "Accidentally" poke my sister with a nail file. Prank toll-free mental support hotlines under the guise that I was a thirty-something corporate professional whose husband just had been caught in an affair with his administrative assistant. Kiss boyfriends in deserted alleys to avoid getting caught by my parents. Scribble in library books. But the worst thing I ever done--I mixed a pot of fake puke at home, and then I went to this movie theater, hid the puke in my jacket, climbed up to the balcony and then, I made a noise like this: hua-hua-hua-huaaaaaaa--and then I dumped it over the side, all over the people in the audience. And then, all the people started getting sick and throwing up all over each other. I never felt so bad in my entire life.

Wait, that last one was Chunk. My bad.

What is the one thing you are looking forward to doing most after finally having the baby, ie. drinking coffee, touching your toes, shaving your legs?

I've never been fond of coffee, I don't care much for my toes, and with careful (albeit uncomfortable) manuvering, I've been able to maintain normal leg-shaving activity, so those are out. So what I do miss? Sleeping on my back. Grooming my lady parts; hell, being able to see my lady parts without assistance from a mirror. Eating cold lunchmeat without fear of poisoning my unborn child. "Enjoying" my husband. Wearing clothes from New York and Company instead of Motherhood Maternity. I'm so excited about banishing my maternity wardrobe to a tupperware bin in our storage unit until it's time to do this all over again.

As much I as look forward to those things, though, I've surprised myself with the realization that, once this is over, I'll actually miss being pregnant. The first trimester sucked major ass--just thinking about all that morning sickness makes me nauseous--and with the exception of our ultrasound and some moderate fetal activity, the second one wasn't much to write home about, either. But the third trimester.... This is where I feel like I've really come to know my baby, experiencing her sharp jabs and gentle, wave-like rolls, rubbing my hands over the protuding shoulder or elbow or whatever the hell happens to be poking me at the moment. This is where Luke and I can talk to her and she can recognize our voices. This is where I know she's safe all the time, where nobody can get to her without my permission.

This is my first real glimpse at motherhood, and I cannot wait for the rest. 

Thankful, so thankful

Both for what I have and what's to come.

NaBloSickofthisO

OK, is it just me, or is the Internet not as enthusiastic about NaBloPoMo this year? Last November, everyone seemed more inspired to write; now, it's often just an obligation, something to do when we'd rather be lying on the couch waiting for the two-hour, sure-to-be-awesome episode of Deal or No Deal. (Or is that just me?) Plus, the tingling in my left hand has become so bothersome that I'm now sporting a wrist brace, which makes typing extra fun.

In other words, let's just get this entry over with.

Project Freka: Prenatal Edition

• Write thank-you cards for shower gifts
• Purchase life insurance
• Create will-like document to secure guardianship and general well-being of Frema-Useless Clutter offspring

Like I said a few days ago, on Sunday night I finally purchased Suze Orman's will and trust kit, even going so far as to complete a durable power of attorney for health care form that only needs a few signatures to be official. The kit is easy to use and designed to make sure you're meeting the legal guidelines required by your particular state, Suze herself walks you through each process with her lawyer (the one who helped her create the kit), and the documents can be updated any time. However, I'll be holding off on finalizing anything until after Freka's born. There are two reasons for this:

- The will template asks several questions about children that we can't answer properly until the baby is actually here, and I don't care to create a document that'll outdate itself in just a couple of weeks (or days, dear God please let it be days).

- All of these things specifically ask for the